


anything but normal

by clarystea



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: F/F, Set in Paris, au which alludes to them still being shadowhunters, only it's isabelle that clary finds first
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-19 00:14:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9408875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarystea/pseuds/clarystea
Summary: When Clary’s mother is pronounced missing and presumed dead, she goes to Paris.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is a reupload, i deleted it cause i low key hate my writing but i'm kind of past caring at this point lol

When Clary’s mother is pronounced missing and presumed dead, she goes to Paris. It’s a vacation at first, a getaway from the hectic New York city and into another, albeit prettier, hectic city.

Paris is pastel; pink hues of cherry blossoms and white washed apartments that hang above the busy streets below. Paris is the smell of coffee, pastries, chocolate. It bristles with tourists, desperate to snapchat the Eiffel Tower. Clary stays, adapts. She dresses better, forces herself to like bitter coffee – drinks it, outside in the August sun – and she forgets. Not really, she could never forget. But she heals.

She draws. Sketches the Parisian streets; old houses, cobbled streets. She visits the Louvre, more than she should and she walks, for hours, admiring the artwork. Paris feels familiar to her, soft fabric, soft colours. It’s heavenly. She stays.

She speaks French, badly. She orders wine in broken French and she sits alone most nights, staring out into the dark abyss, lights flashing in the distance. She likes the dark.

Simon arrives in September when the sun is beginning to fade and the nights become colder. He’s different. Older.

“You have to come back Clary,” he begins, eyes shining and grin spread across his face. “Maureen and I have perfected our set, you need to come see us.”

Clary smiles and it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“You know I can’t do that Simon,” she sighs, eyes fixated on her glass of red wine. She clings to it desperately, anything to hold. “New York isn’t the same for me anymore.”

Simon takes a gulp from his glass.

“Promise you’ll visit one day though,” he smiles, but it is different this time, understanding. “You still have to meet Raphael, remember?” Clary nods, because despite trying to close herself out of the world, she can’t resist meeting Simon’s new boyfriend.

Winter brings soft, white snow – it’s powdered sugar that covers donuts and plain sketchbook paper begging to be drawn on- it’s entrancing. It covers the streets Clary has come to know so well and she marches through it with black riding boots, her fiery ponytail swinging behind her.

She isn’t pastel, she’s something darker. She’s black hair that falls down her back in waves and brown eyes that scan the room intently. Looking for something, Clary notices, that doesn’t seem to be there. She’s sitting in a booth alone, and Clary knows all too well what it’s like to sit in a restaurant alone, the sad looks from couples and the glances from children who don’t know better. She sits down across from her, smiles at the brunette. She’s dressed in a skin-tight black dress. Clary swallows.

Clary introduces herself in French, meanwhile the girl looks back at her, confused. Clary notices her tattoos. They seem to be ancient symbols, perhaps a forgotten language. They’re pitch black. Fuck, this girl is something else.

“Isabelle,” she introduces herself, still wearing a confused look on her face. Clary notices her lips, frosted hot pink. “I’m not very good at speaking French.” She admits and Clary laughs because thank god.

“Oh good,” Clary smiles widely. “Because I sure can’t.”

“Oh come on, you’re not half bad,” Isabelle tells her. “I’m more confused that you can see me, however, do I know you from somewhere?”

Clary is taken aback, asks, “Why wouldn’t I see you?”

Isabelle tells her, “Normal people usually don’t.”

“I don’t feel very normal usually,” Clary confesses, biting her lip and playing with the necklace that hangs from her neck. Isabelle notices.

“I usually find the most beautiful people are hardly ever normal,” Isabelle stares directly at her, lips tugging upwards into a coy smile. “And you are anything but normal, Clary.”se

 


End file.
